Chapter 1
You’re Trespassing
Four Years Later (Katie)
I’ve lived near mountains for over a decade now. I see them every day when I step out of my house. I spend time near the peaks, I hike, I take pictures. But I’ve never seen mountains quite like these. The mountains passing on the other side of my windshield are another level from Juniper Ridge.
These are huge, award winning mountains. Olympic-level mountains.
When I decided to take on this project and head up to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, I’ll admit I had high hopes. It’s one place I’ve never been. My expectations have been far exceeded. It’s gorgeous here.
It’s the start of May and all of the snow has just about melted, save for a few places way high up in the peaks. Although, I have a feeling the snow never truly leaves the tallest points. The fields are green, the river is full, and the very first signs of summer are peeking through.
Sun reflects off of the Snake River as I drive up the most beautiful canyon I’ve ever seen in my life.
Groups of families walk along the road carrying large rafts, wearing helmets and life jackets.
Fishermen stand in the river casting flies into the current.
Hikers trek along the rocky mountainside.
It’s picturesque. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think all of this was setup as a tourist advertisement.
As I drive through town, the ad continues.
Couples eating lunch on bistro tables outside of restaurants, rows of western themed shops in buildings that look like they’re right out of a movie, and at the center of town, four huge arches in each corner of the square made completely out of elk antlers.
My navigation app takes me a ways outside of the main town, towards the south end of Grand Teton National Park.
I turn onto a well-groomed dirt road and pray my little car makes it without popping a tire or bottoming out.
I pull up to a weather worn cabin and kill the ignition, pulling my wind blown auburn hair up into a ponytail.
One deep breath and then it’s time to get to work.
As soon as I step out of the car, I already love it here.
The sun warms my face as mountain fresh air fills my lungs.
It almost feels like home. I live in the mountains of southern Idaho, almost Utah, so I’m used to this environment.
The mountains may be slightly larger here and the town a bit bigger and fancier, but it’s still a Rocky Mountain town.
I know all about those. I love them. We vibe well, the mountains and I.
Gravel crunches beneath my runners as I walk up to the cabin.
My wonderful parents bought a tiny cabin on the outskirts of Jackson Hole, and instead of coming up here themselves, they’ve sent me.
I found out about it by email. They couldn’t be bothered to call me on the phone.
In fact, there’s still a small chance I’ve come all this way for nothing if their email was hacked by a very convincing criminal.
I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
“Please be do-able,” I whisper under my breath, blowing a stray hair out of my face.
The Old Cabin doesn’t look great from the outside.
It’s situated back a bit on a beautiful piece of land surrounded by a cattle ranch.
There’s a view of the southern bit of the Tetons behind it.
The wood looks as though it was stained dark at some point and has weathered over time to be almost gray.
To be honest, it’s better looking than I expected when I heard it needed an entire summer to be fixed up.
I walk up to the front door already making a mental list of what to do first. Sand and stain the exterior, deep clean the windows, replace that one that’s cracked on the second floor, power wash the porch.
This is where I thrive. I’m great at problem solving.
I’m a great vacation rental host. And, apparently a great cabin fixer upper.
Put me in an eclectic B and B and I’m in my happy place. It’s why I’m still working for my parents despite our… interesting dynamic.
We have four large cabins in Juniper Ridge that I manage full time, along with remotely managing another thirteen properties around the west. All that belong to the MacPherson Enterprises empire.
I had to earn this job, despite working for my parents’ company. They were harder on me than other applicants. But I’m great at what I do, and I can’t wait to dig into this new property.
I spent the last month since we acquired the charming cabin researching the area. I’ve done so many virtual walkthroughs of this cabin I feel like I’ve been here before as I walk in the door. It’s dark and dusty inside, filled with spiderwebs. But all I see is potential.
As soon as I make it over the threshold, a warm feeling envelops me. Like heat radiating off of a crackling fire on a winter’s day.
I pull out my notebook to jot down all of the ideas running amok in my head. Rust orange couch, leather chair, restore the hardwood floors, cowhide rug, bright yellow curtains.
The rooms are in great condition for how old the cabin is, and how long it’s gone unused.
From what I could tell, it used to be part of the ranch surrounding us.
The owners don’t use the cabin, and are having some hard times so they sold it to MacPherson Enterprises for a pretty penny, advertising it as a perfect vacation rental property.
It came with a couple of acres, more than our other properties, and no surrounding buildings to obstruct the breathtaking view. Also included was the promise the cattle belonging to the ranch wouldn’t come close enough to agitate guests, which is very helpful for me.
A smile breaks out across my face as I look around the living room area, complete with a fireplace, of course.
I’ve made it.
My first Wyoming property. In a proper vacation town.
It’s all mine. For the summer, that is. I have four months to fix this place up and have it ready for fall visitors.
It would have been ideal to do this part in the winter to be ready for summer vacationers, but I’ve heard the winters here are brutal.
I’m glad we started now. The most magical time of year in the mountains.
Out of nowhere, a warm breeze glides across my arms. It wraps around me, smelling like honeysuckle and making me feel at home.
In my mind’s eye, a crackling fire burns in the fireplace, splatters of orange, red and yellow trees on the peaks outside of the window.
A fresh cup of tea warms my hands, the smell of mint filling my senses.
A broad chest at my back, firm arms pulling me close.
Then, the breeze is gone and it all melts away.
Startled, I look around the cabin only to see all of the doors and windows are firmly shut. There’s definitely not any air conditioning installed, and the heating shouldn’t be on yet. It felt like… almost like I’m supposed to be here. I can’t explain it. I must be exhausted or something.
Shrugging it off, I take another step, itching to check the rest of the place out. There’s a spring in my step as I adjust my high waisted jean shorts and skip towards the porch. Stopping short of the front door, I notice an open window and a rich campfire smell wafting in.
As I take in the view, a small dirt cloud appears in the distance where the road keeps going past the cabin. It’s a beautiful day outside. Not a cloud in the sky, golden grass blowing in the wind, red and orange leaves falling off the trees.
Hang on. Why are the leaves already changing?
That doesn’t make sense, it’s spring. I step up to the window to take a closer look. Sure enough, it looks like the middle of fall outside.
Movement catches my eye towards the back of the sprawling field. I squint my eyes to look closer. It’s a deer. A buck with three antler points on one side and two on the other. He saunters closer to the yard. I’ve seen a lot of deer living in Idaho, but this one is different somehow.
Afraid to scare the deer away, I tiptoe to the front door and step out onto the wraparound porch. My boots barely make any noise as I creep over to the side of the house where the deer stood. But when I get there, he’s gone. No sign of a deer at all.
I let out a disappointed sigh, sad I didn’t pull my phone out and take a photo to send to my best friend Hazel. It looks different than it did from the window. A lot different. The trees and grass are green, not shades of yellow, orange, and red.
It looks like spring again.
I shake my head, trying to get a hold of myself. I’m clearly imagining things. That, or the windows have some sort of tint on them. But, I’ll have to check that out later. Because now, a big dirt cloud on the road is heading my way.
If I remember my maps correctly, that’s the road to the main ranch buildings. They’re far enough I can just barely make them out. The dust cloud gets closer and closer until I can just make out the silhouette of a horse.
I run a hand through my hair. Someone from the ranch must be coming down to welcome me.
The owner knows I’m arriving today, an older man named Walter.
I never got a last name, just Walter. We spoke on the phone a few times, and he was so kind to me, answering all of my questions about the property and telling stories of his ranch in the old days.
The closer the horse gallops, the less sure I am that it’s Walter in the saddle. Onyx hair falls out from under a cowboy hat, fading into a scruffy beard. The dark ink of a tattoo sleeve covers his left arm, poking out of his black t-shirt.
Another tell-tale sign this isn’t Walter: he looks pissed off.
I pump up my smile a bit as the horse stops a few feet away from the porch and its rider dismounts.
“Hi,” I wave as the man approaches. Honey always catches more flies than vinegar, as my Aunt Millie always says.
I’ll just kill him with kindness. There’s no response beyond a gruff grunt as he approaches.
His olive skin is darker from days out in the sun, hat covered in a thin layer of dust. He’s wearing a set of black leather chaps that kickstart my heart rate a little bit. Huh. I guess I’m a chaps girl now.
Brown eyes pierce mine with a fire behind them.
He’s really mad. And also extremely attractive, but that’s beside the point.
“You’re trespassing,” he growls, his no-nonsense tone startling me. A strong cedar scent envelops me and draws me a little closer.
Holding out a hand for him to shake, I put on my best PR smile. “Hi, I’m–”
“I said, you’re trespassing,” he interrupts. My hand falls slowly back to my side. “This is Lone Pine Ranch property. There’s a sign on the road. This cabin isn’t for tourists.”
Okay, guess we are skipping pleasantries today.
“As I was saying, hi,” I start again. “I’m Katie. I’m here to renovate this cabin. My company just bought it a few months ago. This particular piece of land doesn’t belong to the ranch anymore, which technically means you’re the one trespassing.” I grin wider, standing my ground. “Who are you?”
“I own this ranch, and yes, this is part of Lone Pine. I think I would know if someone bought the Old Cabin,” he says, holding my gaze.
Alright, guess he’s not backing down. I’m stuck in place as he studies my face, looking like he’s trying to piece something out.
A spark of recognition passes across his expression for just a second but it leaves as quickly as it came.
“I spoke to a man named Walter, he should have all of the details of the purchase and my arrival today. Do you know anyone by that name?” I ask.
For a second he doesn’t say anything. “Yes,” he sighs, “I know Walt.”
“Great,” I clap my hands together and plaster on another smile, “Then surely you can call him up and confirm I am, in fact, the owner of the cabin. Well, not me personally. MacPherson Enterprises owns it. But I represent them and I share the name, so it might as well be me.”
“Hold on just a sec– wait, what did you just say?” His eyebrows furrow as he searches my face.
“Walter. That’s the man I’ve spoken with. Can you call him?” I repeat and his eyes widen a bit.
“No, no. The name. What did you say your name was?” He asks, suddenly paling.
“Katie. MacPherson. Of MacPherson Enterprises. Walter should know who I am,” I say cautiously. This man looks like he’s seen a ghost. After a few long seconds of silence I try again, “Who are you?”
He clears his throat, looking away. A dry laugh escapes his throat as he shakes his head slowly back and forth.
“I’ll be damned,” he mutters under his breath. Turning back to me, our eyes lock and I swear I’ve seen those brown eyes before. I just can’t remember when.
“Miles. I’m Miles Autry.”
“Nice to meet you Mi–” It can’t be. Words fail me as I finally remember the last time I saw Miles. In a hotel in Salt Lake City over four years ago. The Wyoming cowboy from the bar. The one who never called. This can’t be him.
My Miles was charming, funny, light-hearted, and smiled almost constantly. Yes, he worked at a ranch and they look alike, but there’s just no way this man is the same Miles. I can’t imagine Miles being gruff with anyone, much less me. It has to be a coincidence. Right? Unless…
“Oh my god,” I stagger backwards a step as the realization smacks me in the chest like a semi truck.
“What the hell are you doing on my ranch, Mac?”